


A Pirate's Kind of Man

by inwhispersandscreams



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: M/M, crack!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inwhispersandscreams/pseuds/inwhispersandscreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It made his mouth water at the thought. His opposite, another challenge found. A rough speaking man with little patience and less manners. Uncouth, uncultured... a pirate’s kind of man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pirate's Kind of Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladylionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylionheart/gifts).



> Unbeta-d, so all mistakes are mine! Written for a crackpairing inspired by anniethesourwolf and captaininmypants of tumblr. Enjoy!

Killian Jones, more commonly known by his more _colourful_ moniker of Captain Hook, was a skilled seducer of women from all manner of backgrounds, or so it was told. He could charm the favour of any noblewoman, and had taken many a woman from her husband, all with a simple turn of phrase or his confident grin and smooth, lazy gait. High though those praises were, Hook couldn’t help but feel indignant at the rumours that surrounded his own person – after all, he had just as much luck with the menfolk of the world, as he did with the women. Known seducer of women? _Please_ , Hook could seduce anything with a heartbeat and opposable thumbs if he had half a mind to do it.

And Hook had a mind to. A man with a hook for a hand found himself to be at a rather unfortunate disadvantage when duelling, and nothing could remedy that, so Hook found his other weapons. A few words here, a few looks there, and the folk of the Enchanted Forest had all but _given_ him what he had desired. It was a rather perfect system, he thought – he could never be arrested for something that had been freely given to him, could he? And, more than that, Hook had been told by the Swan girl that if he so much as _thought_ of using his hook as a weapon, she would singlehandedly lock him in the deepest corners of Storybrooke in what her brat of a child had rather jubilantly called, a ‘ _time out_ ’. Perhaps the woman thought that he was a man that played only one strategy, that because he possessed different bodily parts than hers, he could not use the art of seduction to achieve his means? It was all nonsense of course. Hook was well aware as to what a glint of his blue eyes or a nipple on his bottom lip could do to the person the act was directed against.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take some pleasure from it too.

So with his sword confiscated – _for your own good_ , Emma had said, and he’d cursed her both silently and not so silently – and his hook forbidden from use, Hook had played his part well. He had growled, he had cursed, seethed, fumed and otherwise given a rather impressive display of displeasure at being thoroughly outwitted by the blonde sheriff of this bizarre _Storybrooke_ , while instead his plan started to fall neatly into place. Had she expected him to simply _run_ at the Dark One, sword drawn and hook brandished in the air, heaving a might war cry into the air and _hoping_ that it would work? (He would never admit that he had tried that plan once, so long before – the humiliation would be too severe.) Of course he wouldn’t! He was _Captain Hook_ , for the Gods’ sake! Dastardly and tricky, and his plan was more elegant than _that_.

Besides, the only thing that could kill Rumpelstiltskin was his own dagger, something Hook knew would be neither easy to find nor easy to obtain.

For many years, that one detail had vexed him. The only thing that could kill the Crocodile was the thing the damned creature possessed himself – the magic of his position as the Dark One prevented any other death, and with magic’s reintroduction into this new world of Storybrooke, undoubtedly it would continue to protect the man from the long overdue demise that Hook was determined to give him. So how did one kill one that was practically immortal and all powerful?

With _magic_.

And thus the plan had formed. There was much left to chance, but Hook was a pirate, and by that measure, his penchant for gambling was only rivalled for his love of rum and thievery of things that sparkled and fetched high prices on illegal trade markets.

His time in Neverland had educated him in all things magical. The realm was held in the tight grip of numerous magics, making the small world of islands to be a highly unpredictable place. While dwarves only could mine for the diamonds that formed fairy dust – something, he believed, to be due to the fact that only a being borne of magic could mine and harness such powerful, raw materials – only fairies could turn the dust into some kind of a tool for use. What fairy dust did all depended upon the fairy that used it, and that much had been clear to him. But what about dust used _before_ a fairy come imbue it with a purpose and function?

The answer was simple – no one knew. The fairy dust could turn even the Dark One into a simple little cockroach or set the Crocodile on fire. It could remove his immortality just enough for a fatal stabbing, or kill him on its own. Hook had no idea at all what raw fairy dust could do to the Dark One, but he doubted that it could do very much to the _Crocodile’s_ benefit. When one was already all powerful, there wasn’t really much that Hook could do to the man that would _help_ Rumpelstiltskin, so, by that logic, all it could do was harm him.

All Hook needed was fairy dust, and that was easily said than obtained. A world crushed and chewed out by a dark curse didn’t have enough magic in it for his purposes, but a new world, with newly found magic, mines still rich with unfound diamonds... now _that_ world had _much_ more of what he needed. He just needed a dwarf to mine the diamonds for him.

He had chosen the one that looked the most rugged, known only as Leroy or as _Grumpy_ in the old world. It probably was not going to be conducive to his plans, to deal with a bad-tempered dwarf, but Hook decided to indulge himself for a moment when he had chosen to set forth at that particular night. Leroy was _exactly_ what Hook looked for in a male – a strong jaw, the shadow of a beard, craggy features that all spoke of a hard life and a resolute man. It made them more of a challenge, and Hook thrived on doing the undoable. To some, it was hard to comprehend how Hook could so easily lust for women whose bodies were all slopes and gentle curves, skin as soft as silk, but yet still hunger for men build like mountains, as if they were made from the earth itself, but that was what he did hunger for. Just because he enjoyed both forms of the human body, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy them at their extremes and for what each could be.

“See they have you burning the midnight oil, then.” It was as good an open as any, as Hook leaned against the rough walls of the mine. The shirt on Leroy’s back seemed too tight, as the dwarf swung his pickaxe with great force into the mine wall. He didn’t quite see _why_ the town was mining for fairy dust any more – had Emma and Snow neglected to mention that the world they all hoped to return to was a sorry mess of ogres and ashes? – but it suited him well enough.

Leroy turned, and Hook felt his stomach tighten at the sight. Rugged _indeed_. It was like his face was carved out of the mine walls, hard and strong and unyielding. _But I could make you yield_.

They said dwarves couldn’t love, but Hook was damn sure that they could _lust_.

And he wasn’t wrong, though he wasn’t right either. Somehow, Leroy felt the passions that lingered under the surface of human skin, and felt them as keenly as anyone else. First had been Nova, shining and glowing as if from within, her skin glistening as if fairy dust clung to every inch of her, and then, in his unhappiness, those feelings had never stirred again. The mines, filled with bright sparkling jewels, had become an unpleasant reminder that all things beautiful, he would soon have to give up. _You must give her up_ , the blue fairy had said, just as he gave up the diamonds he mined and the emotions that had filled him, _for her sake, you must give her up_.

But the feelings, the amazement at seeing something so beautiful that it could almost _glow_ , had returned to him, and the warnings that came with it.

He could never keep the pretty things.

And the man in front of him – even if he _was_ a pirate – counted as a pretty thing. Tall and lean, slim hips and blue eyes shadowed by dark hair... it counted as pretty indeed. And if Leroy ever wanted him, the world would turn around and take him away. A dwarf was only allowed to find the beautiful things in the world, but never keep them. Dwarves didn’t love, after all.

“What do you want, pirate?”

The words came out in a deep grumble that nearly made Hook shudder from the sheer _sound_ of it. _Like boulders, crashing together._ Women were air and water, but the man before him was all earth and the rock he mined, hard and resolute. For so long, Hook had been out at sea, drifting with the waves and tides, that he almost forgot that simple pleasure of a solid ground beneath his feet, but in the man before him, who reminded him so forcibly of earth and rock, he could begin to see its appeal again. Solid, unmovable... but _oh_ so tempting to challenge. The sea could wear away at any mountain, if it had enough patience.

“Bit angry, are we? Have no fear dwarf, I’ve never hurt your kind. I don’t even think I’ve attempted to steal from them.” He tried to appear innocent, but he had no doubts that it wouldn’t work. Dressed in dark leather and wandering around at night – not to _mention_ his reputation – gave Hook the appearance of being sin, rather than virtue. At least some things reflected his true colours. Gluttony, envy, wrath and lust were all sins that Hook had spent his life with, and he would gladly do so again. A pirate didn’t live long enough to regret not living life to the full.

“Piss off then. I’m busy.”

The shirt was white, marked with the dust from the mine, and rendered slightly transparent from the patches of sweat that the hard work had wrung from the dwarf. For a moment, Hook’s eyes lingered there, eyes drawing in the sight of dark chest hair and muscles used daily in the back breaking work of the dwarves. This was no easy life for the man – this was no pampered prince who ordered servants to fetch his slippers and draw his curtains. It was a man, grown strong and hard as the iron of the pickaxe, who could weather any storm thrown against him and stand firm.

It made his mouth water at the thought. His opposite, another challenge found. A rough speaking man with little patience and less manners. Uncouth, uncultured... a pirate’s kind of man.

If only he had time for it.

“Tut tut, so uncivil,” he commented as he stepped forward, intent on not letting his eyes rest anywhere _near_ the mining cart. The diamonds glittered there, flickering lamplight cast on them to let the light that hit them diffract into a moving pattern that lit up the cave. “You’d almost think that you didn’t _want_ me here, but that, of course, is un _thinkable_.”

There was no answer from the dwarf, who seemed unable to drag his eye line up from the casually exposed triangle of chest that Hook had revealed. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth at the thought. Bodies didn’t lie, though words could, and no matter what the dwarf said, Hook had his measure. Leroy’s jaw clenched, a muscle by his ear jumping in his face. _Are you trying to deny me?_ Hook couldn’t have that. _No one_ denied him anything, not for any long measure of time. The Swan girl had taken his compass, so he had stolen it back. She had taken his hook, he had taken his back. If Hook wanted something, he made damn sure that he got it – not since he had left his father’s home had he been refused something, or allowed himself to be.

Hook rested a hand against the mine cart, a cool casual figure as he watched the dwarf before him become increasingly more vexed, fingers just inches away from the sought after prize. “Is this what you’re doing now? Annoying the shit out of the rest of us because the sheriff took your sword?” Leroy snorted.

His fingers inched down the side of the cart as Leroy turned around, the sight of Hook’s raised eyebrows lost. “Ah, but that sword I could stand to lose. She never made off with the more important of the two.” And if she had, she’d probably have bitten it off. The woman hated him and all he stood for, his constant switches in loyalties, his eagerness to manipulate – she thought he was despicable, and Hook was glad at least that some part of his reputation had been untarnished and fully appreciated. What use was there in being a wicked pirate, if everyone refused to agree as to just how wicked you _were_?

His fingertips grazed the cool surface of a diamond, and with a thief’s nimble fingers, he grasped it, sliding it into the loose sleeve of his shirt to be hidden safely away. He would need more than one simple diamond, but for that, he would simply have to return to the mines – _especially_ on the nights when Leroy worked. The tensed jaw and inability to look anywhere else but the exposed throat and chest of the pirate spoke volumes, and Hook was all too pleased by the story that they told.

“Get _out_.”

“No, I find myself strangely at home here. You know what it reminds me of?” Hook asked, as he moved his hand once more to rest on the lip of the cart. “Smuggler’s Cove. All it needs now is a couple of priceless heirlooms, a throne or two – particularly if they’re inlaid with jewels – and mounds of gold. Yes, it’s almost _exactly_ like home. I might have squat here.”

He took a rather vicious delight in the sudden turning of Leroy, though it lessened as the tip of his pickaxe came to rest at his Adam’s apple. Hook’s hands flew up in a show of surrender. “All right mate, I kid, I kid. No need to start brandishing it around like a sword. Did Emma take one of yours, too?”

Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest idea, to sass an illtempered dwarf while his pickaxe was pressed against his throat.

“Get _out_ before I place my axe in your eyeliner-laden _face_ , pirate.” The words were all but a growl, but they sent a deep tremor rocking through Hook, and a rush of arousal. He stepped back, feigned submission, watching as Leroy stood still, eyes narrowed though nostrils flared as he sucked in air, inhaling too deeply for mere breathing, eyes once more caught on the skin exposed by the V of Hook’s shirt.

“Well,” he grinned as he turned about, “I always did like a challenge.”


End file.
